


I’ll Take The Low Road

by fredbassett



Series: Stephen/Ryan series [40]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:52:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lester's lover has arrived home after a difficult op.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I’ll Take The Low Road

The sound of a key sliding into the lock of his front door brought Sir James Lester to his feet in a heartbeat. Only two other people held keys to his London flat and he was damned sure his cleaner wouldn’t be arriving, without warning, at 9.30pm on a Friday night.

His stomach gave a brief lurch as he set down the brandy glass and headed for the hall.

Lester hadn’t spent more time than he cared to contemplate in management training courses without being able to conceal his surprise at whatever events a disorderly world cared to hurl in his direction. However, there were times when keeping his carefully cultivated air of detachment in place was harder than others. So on this occasion he was secretly quite pleased that the only outward sign he gave of being caught totally on the hop by Lieutenant Jon Lyle’s unheralded appearance in the hallway of his flat was a slight quirk of one eyebrow.

His lover had been away for three months. Three seemingly interminable months during which Lester had systematically tortured himself imagining all the various ways Lyle could have come to harm. That is when he hadn’t been attempting to curb the attempts of Cutter and his merry band to land them all on the front page of one national newspaper or another. As far as he could tell, the whole team had clearly entered into a pact to distract him by conducting operations in a manner more befitting the Keystone Cops, and if it hadn’t been for the ever-watchful eye of Captain Ryan and the judicious application of at least two DA notices by the ever-resourceful Ms Brown, he might have seriously considered a change of career.

Keeping up the outward appearance of normality, when all he’d really wanted to do was to get the Director of Special Forces on the phone and demand to know where the hell Lyle was and when he was due back, had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. But he’d known all too well that there were some things which went way above even his security clearance and, from the veiled hints that Ryan had dropped, this operation had been one of them.

Lyle dumped his rucksack on the floor of the hallway and tried to muster a grin. “Hi, honey, I’m home.”

The soldier’s attempt at levity failed and there was no disguising the exhaustion in his voice. He was unshaven, his dark hair longer than usual and his skin more tanned than it had been when Lester had last seen him. But it was his eyes that told their own tale. They were the eyes of a man who had seen sights he desperately wanted to forget. He’d also lost weight, the long-sleeved black tee shirt doing nothing to disguise that fact.

Lester let out a long, slow breath. “Jon. Welcome home.”

He stayed exactly where he was. Something in those hazel eyes was forcing him to keep his distance, when all he really wanted to do was cross the hall in two quick strides and wrap his arms round his lover.

Lyle exhaled a pent-up breath of his own, but still didn’t move. “Sorry,” he said quietly.

Lester smiled and held out one hand. “No apologies needed. You’re back, that’s all that matters. Beer or something stronger?”

He tried to convey without words that it was all right, that whatever had happened wouldn’t come between them, and that if Lyle needed space, Lester would make sure he got it. He had no idea if he was succeeding, but then as he watched, the frozen expression on Lyle’s face gradually started to slip away, leaving the soldier looking younger although equally defensive.

“Both,” said the lieutenant, with the ghost of a smile.

* * * * *

Half an hour later, they still hadn’t touched.

Lyle was curled up at one end of the large leather sofa, his bare feet tucked up underneath him, a large balloon glass of brandy cradled in his hands.

The sleeves of his tee shirt had fallen back, exposing new scars on both arms. From what Lester could see from his vantage point in his favourite armchair, it looked very much like some bastard had twisted barbed wire around his lover’s forearms. The thought of it made him feel sick, but as ever, he kept his mask of indifference in place. It was obvious by now that Lyle wouldn’t welcome any sort of physical overture and, if that was the way he needed things to be, Lester wasn’t going to push him.

He’d never seen Lyle in this state before. Withdrawn, almost fragile, staring silently into the brandy glass, swirling the amber liquid round and taking the occasional swallow. Lester had refilled the glass three times in the last half hour. On the first occasion, Lyle had flinched, cringing away from any physical contact, whilst trying desperately to pretend he wasn’t. The second time he’d done a better job of disguising his reaction. By the third occasion, Lester had learned to move slowly and carefully, like a man who wanted to avoid startling a wounded animal, and he’d simply deposited the bottle on the table next to the sofa and gone back to his own chair.

Another half hour ticked slowly by. Eventually, Lester put his own glass down and said quietly. “Bed, Jon, now.”

Lyle took a deep and slightly shaky breath and opened his mouth to protest.

Lester shook his head. “I meant on your own. I’ll take the sofa-bed in here.

The soldier’s eyes opened wider and he drained the rest of the brandy in one swallow. “You’re not sleeping on the settee in your own flat, James. I’ll get a cab.”

“You’ll do no such thing. I don’t know what’s happened while you’ve been away, Jon, and I know better than to ask, but I do know that you don’t want to be on your own. If you’d wanted that, you would have gone back to your own flat in the first place and not come here.” Lester stood up and held out his hand. “Bed,” he repeated, gently but firmly.

Lyle set his glass down and met Lester’s gaze for the first time in an hour.

His eyes were pleading silently but for what, Lester had no idea. He’d seen eyes like that before, years ago when his brother had finally succumbed to the lure of getting a partner in crime and had insisted on Lester accompanying him to Battersea Dogs Home to make the choice, on the grounds that his brother would no doubt end up looking after the creature at some point. They’d seen row upon row of dogs, all staring at them with beseeching eyes, so many of them damaged by man in one way or another. They’d made a choice and Ralph had taken home a beagle called True, but even now, ten years later, Lester still remembered the first sight of that poignant mixture of fear and hope in the dog’s eyes as it had stared at them through the wire of its cage.

He was seeing the same look now in Lyle’s eyes.

And he swore to himself that whatever his lover needed from him, he would give.


End file.
